


Pocket Aces

by Xeranathus



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Light Angst, Love Triangle or something, Multi, Slow Romance, idk i tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeranathus/pseuds/Xeranathus
Summary: in a game of cards, only one winner takes all. {asra/reader/lucio}
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader, Asra (The Arcana)/You, Asra/Lucio (The Arcana)/Reader, Asra/Lucio (The Arcana)/You, Lucio (The Arcana)/Reader, Lucio (The Arcana)/You
Kudos: 31





	Pocket Aces

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired by harry styles' new album & lauv's new song "mean it".  
> I'm not sure if this fully qualifies as angst but that's what I had in mind when I wrote it, so that's what I'm going with! ;;  
> also, my first time writing any sort of "love triangle" or multi pairing (I guess if you squint lol), so hopefully it makes sense.  
> hope you enjoy! ♡

There’s a lingering warmth beside Asra as he stirs, fighting the heavy lull of sleep as he feels the indentation of your body still present on the sheets. His fingers lazily brush over the fabric, still hot from your body heat. He mentally takes note of the messily drawn back sheets and the pillows strewn across on the floor, clear signs that you were in a hurry for your next destination. Not a doubt flickers across his mind as he slowly rises, muscles sore and aching, as he diligently wills his body to move, to pick up after you in your absence. He knows exactly where you are, whom you’re with, as images of last night’s events cycle through his mind like a film reel. The empty promises you had filled him with still echo inside his mind as he carefully, purposely, remakes your space — his space — and he can’t help but wonder why he allows you to build him up like a house of cards, each and every time, always one breath away from crumbling down. He would fold his hand, time and time again, put on his best poker face for you, despite knowing that you knew his true intentions. He was never anything less than all in. 

Padded finger tips graze your lips, brushing against them with earnest desire, hot breath fanning across your ear. Silver reflects like stardust in his irises, a bold yet gentle contrast against the vermillion in his sclera. Hidden declarations of adoration drown within his mercury pools as they scan your face, searching for a reflection of the emotions he felt towards you but coming up empty, like staring in a broken mirror. One golden claw grasps onto the material of your shirt, desperate to anchor you to him but Lucio knows, deep down, that every moment you share with him is fleeting in nature, nonpermanent, even as he strings together false notions and empty promises — similar to the ones you feed him each and every time you show up in his room, invade his personal space, sit in the reserved seat in his mind that he saved just for you. He lets you see his cards, play his own little game right from the very beginning, despite you switching up the rules each and every time. Still, he sits and waits patiently, too patiently for his liking, eager to finally watch you fold your own hand. To know that you were all in, just like he was for you. When you leave, he finds himself staring in a different mirror this time — blond hair slicked back and devious grin plastered on his face, but through the cracks in the reflection he can see pieces of you in him, and with a indignant puff of his chest he tells himself that it’s alright this time around. You knew his cards before he could even play them.

Night falls once again and with its arrival comes your departure, belongings packed and held close to your figure as you expertly maneuver your way from the palace back to the shop. Three knocks on the door signals your return, the handle jiggling and opening just wide enough to allow you entrance. Silence meets your ears and you strain your eyes against the only light source in the room, a dimly lit candle that Asra left out just for you — you knew that he would already be fast asleep at this time of night, you can feel the soft, slow almost lethargic rhythm of his heart beating in tandem with yours — and as you pour yourself a steaming cup of tea, clutching it close to your chest as if it were your very own treasure, the pot of gold you won after showing the winning hand in a game you were destined to win, you briefly wonder if this is what it felt like to hold all the aces in the palm of your hand.


End file.
